


The Story of Scout

by MundyBundy



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, M/M, Mention of abuse, Prewar Fic, young scout, young sniper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11038614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundyBundy/pseuds/MundyBundy
Summary: A Spy who never wanted to be a father, a Scout who doesn't know he has a father, and a Sniper that gets caught up in it all.





	The Story of Scout

Certain sounds exist that have incredibly strong emotional connections for every person, and when a person hears them, they automatically know the feeling associated with them. The relaxing release of a sigh, the tense impatient anxiousness of a ticking clock, the crackling warmth of a fire. Even with closed eyes, these sounds can make a person feel strong and memorable things. 

The sound of a fist going through drywall was hollow and filled with anger, and it reminded everyone of a dark time in the family. 

The softball sized hole in the wall was a gift left by Mark, the long time boyfriend of Linda, a mother of eight young boys in the South of Boston. The hole was aided by whiskey and a particularly bad day at work. 

A young boy who would one day go by the nickname Scout was watching quietly from the hallway, his small fists clenched tight with rage. His older brother tried to get him back to bed, but he wouldn’t move away. 

The scene in the living room was one that would be burned into his young mind for years. His mother, usually a vibrant and strong woman was now on her knees, shaking in fear and bawling her eyes out between pleas for the man in front of her to stop. 

This wasn’t uncommon for him, the drinking, the cursing, the abuse. But this time it seemed darker, like he wasn’t afraid to let loose entirely, and Linda could feel the vicious intent rolling off of him. 

She asked him to calm down, to go to bed, she said the kids were asleep, and told him tomorrow would be a better day. But he took another step, and another, and got closer to her while she crawled away, shaking her head. 

“Get away from my mom!” The young boy shouted, his own frame shaking in fear. Mark was imposing at the best of times, a construction worker who always smelled like cigars and booze. On his right forearm there was a tattoo of a naked woman winking at the viewer. Once he had shown the young Scout and told him it was even nicer to look at the real thing. 

They both turned, and Linda let out a sob of protest, ashamed to have her son seeing this. She didn’t want him to get hurt, this wasn’t his problem to deal with, but he stayed there anyways looking Mark right in his angry red face. 

But it worked, he stopped advancing on Linda, and instead came towards him. The alcohol made his movements messy and slow, he had to catch himself on the doorframe before he got halfway there. 

“Stop, don’t you touch him Mark!” She screamed at him, but he only got closer. Seeing this, Linda jumped up and ran past him to gather the boy in her arms protectively. 

“You think you can tell me what to do kid?” He started, and his mother held him tightly, whispering for him not to listen. “I can do whatever the hell I want, and you’re not gonna forget it this time!” He shouted, and they both flinched. Before the boy could register what was happening, Mark had a handful of his mother’s hair and threw her down, grabbing him from her arms. She cried out for him to stop, fearing for what his drunken state would make him do. 

“Don’t you ever think of speaking to me like that again you little shit!” He had the boy by his shirt, his weight barely noticeable for the large man. “I’m in control here, you do what I say, and you listen when I talk!” The screaming left his ears ringing, and he squirmed to get out of the vice like grip, clawing at the hands. 

“I don’t haf’ta listen to you! You’re not my Dad!” He shouted back, his small voice trembling but defiant. As the youngest of eight boys, he wasn’t a stranger to a beating although none before had come this violently. 

“That’s right, I ain’t your Dad! You’re father didn’t want you, or your whore of a mother! You should be grateful that I even waste my time and money taking care of all you brats!” He threw the child down so hard it knocked the wind out of him, and immediately grabbed him again. 

Dazed and unable to move, the boy tried to focus on something but his vision swam. He felt pain in his arm like the time he’d fallen off the monkey bars in the park, it was searing and throbbing and he was starting to cry, but then another whack to the side of his face came and everything went dark. 

\--

In a cafe near the south side of New York City, two men sat enjoying a cup of coffee together for the first time. It was early in the morning and a fresh batch of bread was just coming out of the oven, the comforting smell making those walking past in the street stop and inhale with a smile. 

The windows to the cafe were thrown open and baskets filled with flowers adorned the picturesque scene. While the occasional car or bike drove by, it was quiet and relaxed and some soft jazz record was playing from some balcony across the street. 

The two men had only recently met and both were strangers to the city, although one much newer than the other. He was young, maybe 25 and preferred his coffee black, while the older man took his with cream and a drop of cognac. 

“So what happened then?” The younger said, leaning back in his chair comfortably, ready to hear the rest of the story. His new friend was full of good stories, but this one was a touch more personal than the others. Over the few days they had known each other they had gotten rather close, and it was apparent from their natural chemistry that they would be good friends. Unknown to either of them, in a few years time they would become something like rivals as well. 

“Well I killed him of course,” The other man said, his expression revealing little about his feelings over this. “She thinks he left for Las Vegas, and my son… well my son doesn’t know he’s my son,” He sipped at his drink, enjoying the slight burn that came with it. 

The pair were certainly a sight, one dressed neatly wearing a silk mask around his eyes, and the other fresh off a boat from Australia with an accent thicker than Vegemite. But somehow despite the odds they had found one another at a bar in Greenwich Village while the Australian was taking in his first taste of America. 

They had exchanged names, and in what Michael Mundy had assumed was flirting, they had gotten to know a good deal about each other that night as well. 

“Serves ‘im right. Bloody abusers. My Pa would get right sick over shit like that. It’s one ‘a the few things we can agree on,” He commented, and the other nodded in agreement. 

In the years to come, both men would become more private, less willing to give personal information so easily, but they were young and trusted so easily in the moment. 

“If ya don’t mind me askin’, what’s the story behind the kid?” It felt like a boundary was being crossed, but Jean Francois leaned back and sighed again, as he often did to seem more composed than he really was. 

“You may ask, but I admit it is my biggest regret and my worst shame.” Before continuing, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case, offering one to his companion before removing one for himself. 

“The story isn’t too exciting I’m afraid to say, no action or mystery… and to tell you the truth, I think that is the reason why I did it. I was young, stupid, and met a woman who could rival me in every way. She was sexy, funny, strong... Oh how I adore her still… We never dated, not really. There were just passionate nights here and there… and then she got pregnant.” He looked off into the distance, remembering the day vividly. “The day she told me, I knew I couldn’t be a father. Not at that time, and maybe not ever. I told her that too, and if you’ll believe it, she understood. She didn’t ask for anything. She could have asked for the world and I would have tried to give it to her...but she didn’t.” After he began to speak so passionately, Mundy believed his friend desperately needed to talk about this very thing. It was why he brought up killing Mark, and it was why he found him in the bar. This man needed another person to talk to before the guilt ate him alive. 

“The only thing she did ask was that I don’t come and go. And I wasn’t upset by that, I wouldn’t have anyways, you know? But I couldn’t just leave her and live my life like that… “ He tapped the ash away and took another drag, blowing the smoke from his nose. 

“I’ve only seen him twice. Once when he was born, and a second time just after his first birthday… He looks too much like me,” 

“So ‘ow did you find out about the jerk then? You keepin’ tabs on ‘em?” Jean picked his glass up in the same hand his cigarette was being held and sipped it. Mundy had noticed the man’s need for dramatics in his life and found it amusing. 

“Yes, of course. I check in, keep them afloat. On his birthday I send his Mother money to buy him a present from me, but neither of them know it. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to face them again, I do not deserve it.” 

“I’m not gonna lie to ya mate, it’s a shitty thing to abandon a child… But it’s not like ya skipped town and pretend it never happened,” Mundy responded, hoping his honesty didn’t rub the man the wrong way. “And about the future, I have no idea if he’ll even want to see ya, after all these years of not being around… But maybe try with his mother first, it didn’t sound like she held a grudge,” 

Jean looked shocked, almost speechless for a moment, before snubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray set on the windowsill. 

“I don’t feel like I can ever be a father,” He admitted, his words dampening the atmosphere of the little cafe. 

“Well like it or not, you are one mate,” The older man looked up at him, and for the first time since they met, he looked unsure. 

They didn’t talk about it any more after that, the peaceful mood returned and they enjoyed the rest of their time in the cafe, listening to records from the other side of the street and inhaling the wonderful scent of freshly baked bread. 

“So what’s your plan? Will you leave America after you finish your job?” Mundy shrugged, knowing the answer to that question would take a lot of forward thinking. 

“Well as soon as my van is shipped over I can start travelin’ around, get a foot into the hired hand community here and make a name for myself… I’ll just take this as far as I can I s’pose,” He drawled, the blank canvas of his future giving him hope and a hint of anxiety. Both men knew that the other was a hired killer. 

“Well if you pursue any women in the future my only advice is to wear a condom,” They both chuckled, but the younger looked like that comment sat wrong with him. Being in America he wanted to try and be more open, more true to himself. In time he would become closed off, but after getting his first taste of the country, he was feeling free. And he wanted to set the record straight. 

Or, not so straight after all. 

“Actually mate, I don’t er, play for that team if you get what I’m sayin’,” He took a moment to really believe he had said it aloud in daylight and not whispered half drunk in the back of a motel. The other man raised an eyebrow, but his lips quirked up as well. At first Mundy thought he would make fun of him and grew embarrassed, but that feeling quickly disappeared. 

“Well well, then I continue to discover things we have in common mon cher.” The french man smiled coyly, and Mundy swallowed at the unexpected turn. He had been with a few men before, but never one so forward in public like this, it was thrilling for the young Aussie. In a matter of seconds and with less than a smile Jean had turned their casual coffee into something far more intimate. It was a skill he would retain throughout the years. 

“Is that right? I wouldn’ta pegged you for it,” He said back, hoping to remain on the topic for a while longer, enjoying the rare feeling of flirting with an attractive man. 

“And I could say the same for you, wishful thinking aside,” His words sparked a fire inside the younger man, and they both spent a good moment watching each other with careful eyes, ready to indulge in a passionate encounter. Without words they both knew what would happen. It wasn’t often that you came across someone whose company you enjoyed that would also have you in the bedroom. 

The two were just years apart, but it seemed as if the frenchman had a leg up in this department. He knew how to turn a phrase and make it drip with double meaning. He was sharp and suave and it was his way of speaking that attracted the Australian. Even though he wouldn’t admit it, he wanted to be more like him. And in time it would come, he would learn what to say and where to touch and how to smile in that way that didn’t just suggest a hotel room, but demanded it. 

But for now he was young, and inexperienced. 

“Shall I get the check then?” Jean asked, and Mundy couldn’t verbally reply, but nodded near vigorously. The frenchman laughed at that and signaled to the waiter for the bill. 

They spent the rest of the day in a hotel room down the block from that picturesque cafe, Jean giving Mundy an absolutely indulgent first experience in America. They smoked cigarettes, shared tales of jobs and talked about their lives. They truly were thick as thieves that week.  
In the morning Mundy woke to an empty bed with nothing but a small note to say goodbye. Everything was paid for, he had left no trace of himself in Mundy’s life but the wonderful stories and a memory of a very good night. 

Years later a slightly older and much less trusting man would step off of a train somewhere in Arizona and see that familiar silver cigarette case being pulled from the breast pocket of an aged, but handsome man’s suit. 

“Hello again, mon cher,”


End file.
